Untitled
by mastadon
Summary: Short drabbles and stories, mainly with the Washington Capitals. Other appearances will include: Chicago Blackhawks, Pittsburgh Penguins. Chapter title is the jersey # of the main player in the story.
1. 1

** #1**

**Character: Semyon Varlamov**

**Team: Washington Capitals  
**

Semyon pushed his mask up and quickly wiped his face. He had been stopping goals left and right tonight. So far, he hadn't let a single one in, and he wanted to keep it that way, after missing three games due to a persistent fever.

Pulling his mask back down, he settled into his area, the blue semi-circle painted in front of the region he guarded. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself down, and looked up just in time to see Sasha and Sanja skate by.

Sanja winked at him, his smile wide and joyful: he had scored a beautiful goal minutes into the first period of the game. Sasha's smile was a little more restrained, but not by much, he too had scored a goal. Semyon smiled back, he was feeling good tonight; the atmosphere of the game, the cheers from the fans, everything just seemed to click.

He knew he could win this game, knew that not a single goal would get past him tonight; he knew this in his bones.

Semyon Varlamov was back.

* * *

FYI: Sasha is Alexander Semin, Sanja is Alexander Ovechkin.


	2. 2

**#2**

**Player: Duncan Keith**

**Team: Chicago Blackhawks**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone!**

**The texts are sent during the 2010 summer, while the flashback is set after the 'Hawks won the Stanley Cup.**

Duncan's phone buzzed, making him jump and lose his place in the book he was reading. "Damn Sharp," he cursed, but the frown on his face soon faded as he looked at the text his friend had sent him: "_Dude, look this vid Kaner sent me! Remember when we sang on the bar with Seabs?"_

Duncan did remember that night, the euphoria after winning the game and the cup, the happiness and laughter on his teammate's face. He forgot about his book as he closed his eyes and went back to that night…

"Hey Duncs, get over here!" Brent Seabrook yelled over the din of the club. Grabbing Duncan's hand and pulling him over to the bar, Seabs continued, "Sharpie's going to get the DJ to play _Chelsea Dagger, _come on!"

Duncan just shook his head, grinned and let his best friend pull him up onto the bar. They'd just brought the Cup back to Chicago, what was there to worry about?

He spotted Sharpie coming back with a maniacal grin on his face, one which Duncan recognized all too well. That grin meant trouble, especially when Sharpie was drunk, or at least tipsy. He clambered on to the bar, beside Seabs, and started waving around a half empty bottle of beer in an attempt to get the attention of the club. Duncan took one look at him and immediately started laughing.

Then, taking pity on Sharpie, Duncan yelled, "Listen up, people, Sharpie here wants to say something to y'all!"

The entire club looked their way, and Sharpie grinned, reveling in the attention.

"I'm sure each and every one of you here knows the lyrics to _Chelsea Dagger_...Or at least to the chorus, am I right?" The crowd yelled a "Yes!" back at him, and Sharpie continued, "Well, sing along with us! Start it up, DJ!" pointing his bottle at the smirking DJ.

The familiar upbeat tune reached Duncan's ears, and he started to sing with Seabs and Sharpie and basically everyone else in the room. By the time they reached the chorus, everyone had huge grins on their faces and no one was louder than the three Blackhawks up on the bar.

"Gave me gear, thank you dear, get your sister-," Duncan was yelling when Sharpie and Seabs interjected, "No, change it to goalie, _goalie, _people!" Obliging, Duncan and the crowd continued, "Get your goalie over here; let us score on him just for the hell of it!"

The songs continued, and so did the drinks. With every drink Duncan, Sharpie and Seabs became more raucous and boisterous and uninhibited; but the one moment that lived on in Duncan's memory was when everyone sang _Chelsea Dagger_, when everyone sang the Blackhawks' victory song….

**Yeah, that's the end of this little thing. I don't think the ending is very good, but my muse for this chapter has decided to run away and start plotting for chapter 3…in any case, review, even if the Blackhawk's aren't your team and/or you don't know anyone in it ;)**

**Oh and nickname guide: Seabs = Brent Seabrook, Sharpie = Patrick Sharp.  
**


	3. 3

**#3**

**Player: Tom Poti**

**Team: Washington Capitals**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone (sadly).**

"Poti."

"Go 'way."

"Poti."

"Go _away._"

"Poooooo_tiiiiiiiiii! _Wake up! We need you!"

Tom Poti flung off his blanket and glared at John Carlson. "What the hell do you need me for in the middle of a flight?" he snapped, cranky after being woken up from his nap.

John grinned sheepishly.

"Well, you see, we need just one more guy to come play poker with us...," he trailed off, cocking an eyebrow and looking at Tom hopefully.

"Can't you get one of the goalies to come play with you?" Tom asked. "The last time I played poker with you guys…I can't even think about that without shuddering."

John pouted, or at least tried to while attempting to maintain his macho-hockey-player persona.

"Neuvy's sleeping and Varly's off doing whatever goalies do when they're alone. Come on Poti, it's just one game! One tiny little game wouldn't hurt anyone, will it?" he wheedled.

Tom rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to give in to the rookie; he wasn't going to give in to the rookie…

"If you don't come with me, I'm gonna make Brads prank you every chance he gets."

"…Okay, fine, but one game and that's it, alright?" Tom conceded, knowing that having Matt Bradley prank him was far worse than sitting through a poker game with his teammates.

John nodded and smirked triumphantly, and they made their way up to the poker tables.

* * *

Three games late, Tom stood up and stretched, yawning as he looked down at his watch.

"Bloody hell, we're about to land and you guys ate up all my sleeping time!" he complained, glaring at the main offender, John. The rest of his teammates stood and stretched as well, moving down the aisle to get to their seats and take out their luggage.

"Oh stop with the theatrics, no one was stopping you from leaving the game," Mike Green shot back, standing up and ambling back to his seat. "It's not like you didn't enjoy it," he yelled from farther down the aisle, preparing to hurl more insults at Tom when he caught the glare Neuvy was shooting at him.

"You woke me up, you idiots, stop with the shouting!" Neuvy growled. It was rather amusing, Tom thought, to watch Greenie wilt under Neuvy's ferocious stare…So amusing, in fact, that he would rather watch from the sidelines rather than intervene between the angry goalie and the defenseman.

Well, until Varly decided to walk out of somewhere in the back of the plane with a maniacal grin on his face and Sasha by his side.

"Where have you been?" Alex Ovechkin asked the other goalie, obviously noticing the slightly crazy look on Varly's face.

"Nowhere," Varly replied, sidling past Tom in order to get to his seat. "I've been nowhere," he repeated, catching Ovi's disbelieving look.

"It looks like you quite enjoyed yourself in nowhere," Tom said drily. Varly immediately flushed a bright red at the not-so-subtle insinuation, but Sasha simply laughed and smacked Tom lightly on the head.

"We did…but tonight someone is not going to enjoy their night," he said, smirking wickedly.

Tom rolled his eyes. "I don't wanna know, okay? Don't tell me," he said, pointing a finger in Sasha's face.

"Wait, wait, you didn't prank me, did you?" Ovi asked frantically. "I _said_ I was sorry for telling-" His rant was abruptly stopped when Sasha slapped a hand over his mouth and hissed something in Russian into Ovi's ear. Ovi scowled, and then broke free of Sasha, surreptitiously rolling his eyes and grabbing his luggage. Sasha merely crossed his arms, a slight smirk on his face, and watched Ovi retreat.

"What are you all looking at? Get your stuff!" Ovi snapped in his 'Captain voice', finally noticing Tom and Neuvy and Greenie and the rest of the players staring at the little drama between him and Sasha. Tom jerked, and then remembered where he was. Turning his back on the two Russians, he found Varly sitting in his seat, his face red with suppressed laughter.

Tom shook his head and grabbed his stuff. Whatever was going on between his captain and the rest of the Russians, he didn't want to know. He was content as long as he didn't get pranked and the team gelled together…the rest was none of his business.

* * *

**Crappy ending once again, I know. Blame the muses, not me! Apparently they like to give me a thousand ideas and then abandon me when I finally get to the ending of the story…anyhow, read and review!**


	4. 29

**#29**

**Player: **Marc-Andre Fleury

**Team: **Pittsburgh Penguins

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. I don't know why I'm writing Penguins fic. The blame for this can be fully placed on this pic (remove the spaces):

http : / 24. media. tumblr. com /tumblr_lhpsz2kLGg1qhe8wso1 _500 .jpg :D

* * *

Marc-Andre Fleury stared anxiously up at the scoreboard. The big, angry red numbers blinked back at him, announcing that the period still had two minutes and thirty seconds to go before he could escape to the locker room.

He sighed as the other players on the ice arranged themselves into formation for a face-off in the opposite zone, the movement making his gut twist. It had been a hard first period, shots flying at him from every direction one could think of, and scuffles and shoving matches breaking out every few minutes. He had drunk quite a lot of water during the occasional TV timeouts and before face-offs, in order to replenish his body, and the effects were now making themselves known.

He really wanted to go pee.

His stomach hurt from the ache, and as the Penguins won the face-off, he prayed fervently that the puck wouldn't be cleared to his side. He bounced a bit on his skates, trying to keep his mind off of his bladder and focused on the 4 inch piece of rubber that was making his life miserable right now.

He closed his eyes for a minute, and then cursed in French as the puck zoomed across the ice towards his net. He kept on cursing under his breath as he prepared to play the puck, but the litany stopped short as the buzzer rang loud and clear, signaling the end of the period.

"Thank God, oh my God," he whisper-shouted, as he quickly skated past the bench and went into the tunnel, barely sparing his teammates a glance. Dumping his stick and gloves on the locker room floor, he ran for the bathroom.

* * *

"Why did you leave so quickly, Flower?" asked Sidney Crosby.

Marc blushed. "Nothing?" he tried, but the disbelieving look on the captain's face made him roll his eyes.

"Fine, I needed to use the bathroom, okay? I had to pee really badly," he said, anticipating the burst of laughter from his teammates. "All because of you, idiots. Did you forget how to play defense, or what?" he continued, shaking his head fondly as he looked at his teammates.

* * *

**I don't even know what gets in my brain sometimes. Review (even if you hate the Pens)? **


	5. 52

**#52**

**Player: Mike Green**

**Disclaimer: These are all very real people and I don't own them. Unfortunately.**

**So, I know I haven't updated in ages - I had planned many great things to do during the summer, and as usual, I did none of them. But this story here is far by the longest I have written (1,111 words!) and in a markedly different style from my usual one. This is a bit dark at the start, but I'm a sucker for happy endings so this does have one...sort of :) Enjoy, and please review!  
**

* * *

Sometimes, Mike feels as if he's drowning.

Sometimes, Mike feels as if he's drowning and he's clawing, jerking, desperately trying to get to the surface of the water only his body doesn't cooperate, it's heavy like a dead weight and he's trying to breathe but nothing goes into his lungs except water, cold and icy down his throat.

Mike doesn't tell anyone how he feels. Not Coach, not Ovi, not Brooksie, not even his family.

He feels weak and ashamed, unable to reveal the pain swirling in his mind and deep down in his stomach, because no one else would understand. Understand how he feels, after two concussions because of pucks to the head and errant elbows, after watching his team lose again in a playoff series where nothing seemed to click, where Mike felt ineffective and useless on the ice because this wasn't working, _he _wasn't working.

Even late into the off-season, after forced cheerfulness and false attempts to smile and take the pain don't work, when his teammates look at him like they know something is wrong but they wouldn't say, _couldn't _say what, when Brooks asks him time and again whether everything was all right, even then Mike doesn't reveal the black cloud hovering over him, making the world go dark.

Training camp starts and people start to filter into Kettler again, preparing for the season as a timer in the back of Mike's mind starts to count down, until there is just a week left before the puck drops for the first game and Mike just. He just can't stand it, the pitying looks which seem to have increased since the off-season ending, people treating him with kid gloves that he doesn't need, and most of all, the heavy feeling weighing down on him that he can't define, the vagueness making it all the more terrifying, something that feels like resignation to the fact that he'll never be what he was before, Mike "Game Over" Green, the best offensive defenseman in the League, always cheerful and happy and optimistic even after a loss.

Despite his depression, the team manages to do pretty well for the first few games of the season, until a game in the middle of November. The Caps are down two to nothing against the Bruins and Mike can see the frustration on his teammates' faces. None of the shots seem to be going in no matter how hard they try, the defense is scattered all over the place and the Bruins keep on making them look like fools. If it wasn't for Neuvy, they wouldn't even have a chance at saving the game.

Mike's on the ice at the very end of the second period, hanging out in his own zone. Suddenly he sees one of the Bruins – he can't remember which one, now – zooming towards him with the puck on his stick, Ovi and Nicky desperately trying to catch up with him, and the Bruin getting ready for the shot and Mike doesn't think, just launches himself in front of the shot and then –

His world goes frighteningly black. He has no idea for how long he's been out but slowly he can hear people talking softly around him, the bright lights burning red on his eyelids. There's a terrible pounding in his head, as if someone was hitting slapshots aimed at him and he can't hear the crowd, the Caps crowd rocking the red and usually yelling their lungs out. A hand moves gently over his face and pries open one of his eyelids.

"Mike? Can you hear me?" the voice of one of the team doctors asks. Mike nods his head blearily but stops when the movement makes the pounding worse. "Okay, you're conscious, that's good. We're going to move you off the ice and look you over to check for a concussion, okay? Don't worry, you'll be fine…"

The voice fades away as Mike remembers the previous two times this happened. He curses at his stupidity, at his rash decisions, and thinks that, this time, GMGM is gonna trade him for sure. Who needs a defenseman who can barely take care of himself?

He's jerked out of his thoughts as he feels himself being moved on to a stretcher, the limpness of his body reminding him eerily of the times he's felt as if he was drowning. He fades in and out of consciousness as they take him to the quiet room and he's checked over by a doctor. He faintly hears the buzzer sounding for the end of the second period, and by the time his teammates start arguing with the doctor to let them in, he's more awake and the pounding in his head is almost gone.

Finally, Brooks and Ovi make their way in after a lot of hissing at the doctor, and he smiles wearily at them.

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" he asks, and Brooks' face contorts with worry and a wry smile and he just shakes his head in reply. Ovi, though, isn't shaken off that easily and he immediately launches into a hushed rant about nearly losing his best defenseman and one of his best friends, whispering presumably to keep Mike from even more pain. He slips into Russian more and more often, still glaring at Mike with icy blue eyes angry but framed with worry, until finally Mike puts a hand on his arm and stops him.

"I know I've been stupid and rash, but you…I just didn't think and I-"

Brooks interrupts him in the middle of his sentence, "You say you just didn't think, Mike, but I know it's deeper than that." His voice is tense as he continues, "You've been...there's been something _off _about you this whole season, and _no, _don't tell me it's nothing, I'm your best friend and I know when you're hiding something, it's not only about the team, Mike, now it's about you and your health and us, your friends, and just…tell us, Mike. You know we'd do anything to help you, whatever it is you need."

Mike simply stares at Brooks for a minute. He's overwhelmed with feelings – but the overriding desire to just tell them what he's been thinking and feeling for the past nearly six months is taking over. And so he does.

Both Ovi and Brooks listen to him with sympathy in their eyes and Mike can't detect any trace of the hated pity; and when he's done, Ovi quietly leans over and hugs him and then Brooks joins in the group hug, and Mike closes his eyes and hugs back and knows that now, soon, it's all going to be okay.


	6. 8

**#8**

**Player: Alex Ovechkin**

**Team: Washington Capitals**

**5 things meme (from livejournal!): ****give me a team/player/pairing/more-than/character and five things. For this drabble, the topic is "Four songs Alex Ovechkin plays in his car that make his teammates embarrassed (and the one song that doesn't)."**

* * *

**1) MC Hammer – U Can't Touch This **

Alex was giving Brooks a ride home after a particularly grueling practice. Coach had seemed angry about something, and instead of listening to some nice, soothing music to calm him down, he had taken it out on the players, making them skate suicides for an hour. Alex couldn't fathom what he was angry about, they had given the Panthers a 5-1 thrashing the night before, and everyone had diligently shown up for practice. Anyhow, the fact of the matter was that his legs were still shaking slightly and Alex needed something to cheer him up. MC Hammer was obviously the correct choice – he was a classic!

Brooks evidently didn't agree. He gave Alex a bewildered look as Alex pressed play on the iPod hooked up to his car stereo, which quickly turned into one of mild horror.

"What?" Alex said. "Is classic, one of best songs ever!"

Brooks' mildly horrified look transformed into one of pure terror as Alex began to wail the lyrics off-key, singing his heart out. As he closed his eyes and tried to tune out the large Russian beside him, Brooks vowed to never take a ride with his captain ever again. Even if it meant riding home on the back of Greener's Vespa. 

**2) Nickelback – How You Remind Me**

Mike yawned. The heat in Alex's car was turned up high and he was worn out by the practice, and the leather seats were comfortable and warm, especially after the December cold nipping at his exposed skin. It would take them nearly an hour to get to his house, and Mike planned on napping for that time, seeing that Alex seemed in no mood to talk.

…At least, he did, until the strains of a very familiar song came through the speakers.

"Alex!" Mike said with a fair measure of shock.

"What? Nickelback is good! You Canadian, yes? You should like Nickelback," said Alex, grinning evilly – or at least it looked that way to Mike.

"Dude, just because I'm Canadian doesn't mean I'm a fan of Nickelback," Mike replied. "If you even try to play it in front of Brooksie he's gonna rip your speakers apart."

"But Brooks not here, hmm?"

"Oh God," Mike groaned. "Just keep the volume down low, yeah? I need a nap."

"Sure, Mikey, sure…" And then Alex proceeded to turn the volume up to high, laughing delightedly at the look of frustration on Mike's face, but then yelped with indignation as Mike reached for the volume knob. Mike managed to turn down the volume to a reasonable value and glared at Alex as he reached for the knob.

"I'll sic Brooks and Hendy on the speakers, I swear to God, Alex," Mike threatened. Alex pulled back his hand quickly – the safety of his expensive speakers was far more important to him than annoying Mike for an hour. At least for now… 

**3) Justin Bieber – Baby**

"Hey Troy, good luck tonight, eh?" Matt Hendricks yelled from across the locker room. The Caps had just won the season opener 4-2 and the players were still exhilarated from the win, and the locker room was noisy and crowded. Despite this being his first official game in a Capitals jersey, Troy Brouwer felt right at home – hockey was hockey, no matter where he played, and the feeling of a win never changed.

"Good luck? For what?" he yelled back at Hendy, who didn't appear to have heard him. Troy quickly shed his pads and walked across the locker room to Matt's stall. "Why would I need good luck? Are we going out or something?"

"Nah, man, no going out tonight. But you're going to ride back with Ovi, yeah?" Matt said, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Isn't it like a tradition or something? All the new guys have to ride back with him at least once?" Troy asked uncertainly. The look in Matt's eyes didn't make him feel too confident, either.

"Well, yeah, just so that he can tortu – I mean, it's like rookie hazing," Matt quickly corrected himself. Troy narrowed his eyes. "Ovi tortures people in his car?"

"Yes—I mean no, it's just- ugh, leave it. Shoo, go back to your stall, Bruce's gonna start yelling soon, go!" Matt waved him off, and reluctantly Troy went. He had a niggling feeling in his stomach that the rest of the team – the old guys, at least – were hiding something from him, as they refused to meet his eyes and the defensemen kept giggling into their hands and glancing over at him.

Troy felt like he was back in high school again. Rolling his eyes, he pulled on his street clothes and wandered over to Ovi's locker. Ovi was deep in an animated conversation with Sasha, his shirt half-buttoned and hanging over his shoulder and the rest of his clothes strewn haphazardly around his stall.

Troy tapped Ovi's shoulder and at his enquiring look, asked, "You ready to go? You're giving me a ride today, right?"

The way Ovi's eyes lit up made Troy gulp. This does not bode well, he thought, and watched as Ovi quickly dressed and stuffed his equipment into his locker.

"Yeah, Browsie, let's go!"

Troy's suspicions were finally confirmed as he got into Ovi's ostentatious Mercedes and buckled in, watching Ovi do the same and then turn on the music player.

The song that started blaring through the speakers was not one that Troy ever wanted to hear.

"God, Ovi, turn that crap down – wait, why do you have Justin Bieber on your iPod, just turn it off, oh my God-"

"But you Canadian, you like Bieber, no?"

"That is the worst logic I've ever heard," Troy stated as he hastily reached out and shut off the iPod.

Ovi pouted, then scowled, and then sped out of the parking lot at an insane speed. "You all so mean to me, no one appreciate my awesome taste in music."

Troy rolled his eyes. Ovi's taste in music was worse than Kris Versteeg's, and that was saying something. Torture, indeed…

**4) ABBA-Mamma Mia**

Nicklas Backstrom and Marcus Johansson stared forlornly at Nicky's car.

"I feel like God is punishing me," Nicklas muttered to Marcus in their native language. "Did it have to break down the day Ovi was staying late at practice?"

Marcus shrugged hopelessly. "If we're lucky he wouldn't play any of the Canadian bands. Or the Russian rap songs."

"That's like half of his playlist right there," Nicky replied. "Nothing we can do about it, let's just cross our fingers and hope for the best."

Marcus snorted, and then stood up straight as Ovi walked out of Kettler, his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Oh, you guys still here? What happened?" he asked, walking over to the Swedes.

"Car broke down," Nicky said simply, waving his hand at the offending car behind him.

"We need a ride," Marcus piped in.

"I will give you a ride!" Ovi said, brightening up at the prospect and inordinately excited. "I have new music today, I swear you guys will enjoy!"

Marcus and Nicky simply shared a despairing look and followed Ovi to his car. As they got settled in, Ovi fiddled with his iPod, finally settling on the song he wanted.

The beginning of the song was something any Swede would recognize, and since ABBA was awesome, the two Swedes sitting in the back of the car thanked the gods and breathed a sigh of relief…

Until Ovi opened his mouth and began to sing. "I watch Eurovision, I sing along to all the entries!" he exclaimed as Nicky and Marcus clapped their hands on their ears and tried to stop listening to the sound of the Russian accent mangling the lyrics.

"Sasha say my singing make him cry, I am so good," Ovi continued proudly during a break in the singing, ignoring the two Swedes dying of agony in the back of his car. He resumed singing as Marcus proceeded to bang his head against the back of Ovi's seat, and Nicky simply slid down low in his seat and tried not to reach over and strangle Ovi. The man sounded like a dying animal, he really did, and neither of his teammates in the back believed that Sasha actually cried because Ovi was good at singing.

…Sasha was also Russian, so Ovi's claim could very well be true.

Luckily, Nicklas didn't live that far away, barely a twenty minute ride. Ovi took hours to choose which ABBA song to play which would please his teammates (nothing would please them except him keeping his mouth shut, Marcus thought); and they only had to endure an eardrum tearing rendition of "Waterloo" before they reached Nicklas' house.

Muttering a hasty goodbye, Nicky and Marcus jumped out of the car and nearly ran to the front door. The ending beats of "Waterloo" could still be heard from that distance as Ovi drove away cheerfully.

"I need a drink," said Nicky and Marcus simply nodded in agreement.

**5) DJ Smash – Moscow Never Sleeps**

It was a cold day in DC. The air was sharp and freezing inside lungs and noses, and the quiet street in front of Verizon Center was suddenly flooded with a sea of noise.

"Sasha! Get your lousy butt in here," yelled Ovi in Russian, pointing at his car.

"Stop calling me lousy butt, lousy butt!" Sasha yelled back, pointedly walking the other way. "It's your fault coach made us do extra suicides!"

"How the hell was it my fault? You started throwing pucks at me first!"

"Yeah, but you were messing with my hair!"

"Messing with your hair? Messing with your _hair? _What are you, a teenage girl?"

"I'm walking home," was Sasha's retort, as he turned beetroot red and flipped his hair.

"No, wait, what?" Ovi said confusedly. "But you promised me that we would get piroshkies after practice…"

"That was before you called me a teenage girl."

"Oh, for f—Sasha, come on, you can't walk home in this cold!" Ovi shouted at Sasha's retreating back.

"I can and I will. I'm Russian, you know," Sasha shouted back, despite his nose and tips of his ears already turning red.

"Come on, Sasha, I'll even buy you the beef piroshky you like so much," Ovi pleaded, running to catch up.

"…With the extra bacon? And you wouldn't steal it like you always do?"

"Yeah, sure, come on!" Ovi said, ready to agree to anything. Sasha turned back, mollified, and with a grin on his face, Ovi walked with him back to his car. The heat from the car hit them like a wave as they sank into the soft leather seats, Sasha letting out an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

"Idiot, walking home in the cold," Ovi chided, lightly hitting the back of Sasha's head with his hand. Sasha merely rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same.

"Put on some good music," Sasha said as they rolled out of the parking lot. "And none of that Justin Beiber stuff."

Ovi pouted, but acquiesced. Sasha could be quite a domineering Russian when he wanted to be, and everyone knew that domineering Russians were not to be messed around with. The playlist he selected had most of his Russian music on it, and he nodded his head and lightly rapped some of the lyrics under his breath, wriggling in his seat to get comfortable.

As they were speeding along to the Russian shop which made the best piroshkies one could get in DC, Ovi heard the starting tune of one of his favorite songs, "Moscow Never Sleeps."

"Aah, best song ever!" he said delightedly, while Sasha snorted next to him and retorted, "Only because you were born there, that's why it's your favorite song."

"Stop being jealous that I was born in one of the most famous cities ever! No one can even pronounce Krasnojarsk properly over here," Ovi said, but most of his attention was focused on the song.

Before Sasha could reply, Ovi began singing along to DJ Smash as he exalted the awesomeness of Moscow. Shaking his head, Sasha let Ovi do his thing. Ovi's voice sounded a lot better when he was singing in Russian and not in English; and they were Russian friends, they had to stick together, after all, no matter what crazy arguments they got into…

* * *

**I have absolutely **_**no **_**idea how this ended up being 2,113 words of Ovi singing and inflicting his poor taste in music on other, unsuspecting human beings.  
**

**I have a feeling my brain is insane. I can't even call these monsters of word-vomit drabbles anymore, they're so long.  
**

**Also, as a side note, Moscow Never Sleeps is a pretty awesome song, you can look it up if you want. I usually listen to the version on Youtube that has the pretty pictures of Moscow and not the ones with the rapping in them, but it's up to you :-) **

**Please review, eh? :P**


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